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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607898">Anyone but you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daismika/pseuds/Daismika'>Daismika</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Feelings Realization, Flirting, Gream - Freeform, Jealous Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Slow Burn, Teasing, dream is his knight, george is a prince, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:00:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607898</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daismika/pseuds/Daismika</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which George has been yearning for his entire life to be normal and Clay, even through his relentless teasing, was the only person that could make him feel like he was.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>339</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It never mattered how many times George had sat in front of a crowd of people, the sea of eyes burning holes into his body, he was never able to get used to it. His body cowered every time, the intense feeling of vulnerability sending tremors straight through his heart and down his spine. Never able to shake the anxiety of being perceived so carefully by hundreds of people as they looked up at him, waiting and expectant. Most of the time, George was left feeling like he just a specimen in a lab being examined under a microscope, knowing that every move he made was being analyzed. Not to mention when he would have to talk as it almost guaranteed, if it hadn't already been before, everyone's attention would be on him.</p><p>Anytime he was required to speak, the words built up in his throat, causing his stomach to twist in knots as he struggled to breathe. All the while the masses looked at him, ears almost visibly perked as they awaited the words of their prince. There would be times, although very rare, that George would stare back down at the crowd and, for a short moment, he could feel the weight of anxiety replace itself with envy. His eyes would glaze over as he allowed himself the comfort of painting a mirage of what life would have been like if he had been born into a normal family. In turn, his envy would mix into a depressive cocktail as the guilt from wishing steadily metastasized before quickly taking over the envy. George knew fully well the very same people he was envying would have loved to have the opportunity to take his place but still, it didn't stop him from daydreaming.</p><p>On a good day, George would look into the crowd of nameless faces and make a game out of guessing what their lives were like outside the threshold of the throne room. And every time, George would do his best to tuck his narrative deep in his brain, hoping that one day he might be able to look into the crowd and see the person he mentally named Darryl or Zak. And every time, without fail, George would look out into what felt like a blank canvas.</p><p>And sometimes, George would have days like this where all the things that caused George's sleepless nights would come to torment him. His temples were almost throbbing from the stress. George looked down at his hands, which has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room. So interesting, in fact, that he had completely failed to notice how much time had passed as the hoards of people rose from their seats to exit. If it hadn't been for the hand grabbed a fistful of George's hair, lightly pulling the boy's head back, he probably could have sat there for a concerning amount of time.</p><p>George didn't even have to look back, he already knew who the culprit was. With no hesitation, George leaned forward in a weak attempt to escape the grasp the person had on his hair but much to George's luck, the grip only tightened. Annoyance quickly spread through George's body as the hand on his head began to tremble from the dry chuckles the culprit was now letting out. The red that filled George's cheeks was practically glowing as his frustration grew. The fear of the wrong 'un mistaking his annoyance for embarrassment fueled George to make another escape attempt, but at that point, it was too late. They had already noticed and pulled harder until the crown of George's head was centimeters away from touching the back of his throne.<br/>
Giving in to the minor defeat, knowing another attempt would be useless, George refused to give the culprit the satisfaction of not making eye contact. The brunette boy knew fully if he were to have averted his eyes, it would mean total defeat, so he let his eyes shoot daggers into the piercing green ones that were staring mischievously down at him. Then, his eyes moved from the man's eyes to his mouth, watching as the other man's pink lips curl into a cocky smirk.</p><p>"Where was your head at, princess?" he asked lowly.</p><p>George winced as the words shot shivers down his spine. Clay knew he absolutely hated being called that, which George knew was precisely the reason he chose to do it. The satisfaction was clear on the freckled boy's face as he peered down at George, whose annoyance was now genuine embarrassment, as he slowly lightened his grip on the boys' hair again. Momentarily, George let his eyes dart around the room, wanting to make sure that no one was watching him be publically humiliated. As soon as George was certain that they were alone, he threw caution out the window. 'I've told you like a million times to stop calling me that." he spat, venom dripping with every word.<br/>
George wasn't even shocked when, in response to words, Clay simply let out a small wheezy laugh. There was nothing George could do but roll his eyes as he ripped his body forward to stand up. Clay stood still behold the throne in amusement, letting his arm fall lazily to his side as George stood. The taller blonde stared down at the shorter boy as he made the attempt to push past him, determined to get away but Clay was determined to proceed with his stubborn advances. "Yeah, I know but it's so fitting." he chimed, snaking his arm around the shorter boy's shoulders. The scoff of disbelief George had let out was music to his ears, fuel to keep going. Leaning a little harder into George's shoulder as they walked through the corridors, Clay exclaimed "you don't think so, Georgie?".</p><p>George side-eyed the taller boy through his lashes "No," he muttered flatly, "I don't". He felt like he had so much more to say, the insults were flying around his head, but that was all he could muster the strength to say. The nickname sounded so unnaturally sweet coming from Clay's lips and, going off what their relationship was usually like, it threw George off. He knew Clay had picked up on it too, they both know all too well how their altercations like this usually ended. George yelling, throwing punches at Clay as he doubled over in laughter completely unfazed. In all honestly, the aftermath of their fighting always left George feeling a little ego deflated, knowing he had done little to no damage to the blonde boy -- but that was beside the point.</p><p>Of course, since Clay had still yet his fix of George's exaggerated reactions, he pushed further. He pulled George closer into his side, allowing his unoccupied hand makes its way up the brunette boy's face. The rough callus on his palms felt so foreign sliding against the soft skin of George's face, the size comparison of his hand and George's small face leaving him momentarily in awe. Mindlessly he let the pad of his thumb ghost past the boy's bottom lip down to the small of his chin, almost scared that if he had grabbed him any harder the boy would shatter in his hand like a china doll. Clay let himself assume his delicate touch was a harassed attempt to further the narrative that George was a princess, nothing more and nothing less. He pulled the boy's chin lightly, forcibly meeting George's glassy brown eyes.</p><p>For a split second, Clay could swear that he felt his pupils dilate as he stared down at the boy. Maybe he was a doll.</p><p>"I don't see how," he started, desperate to sound patronizing so the shorter boy didn't notice, "you're so delicate." He blinked slowly, carefully thinking over what he was going to say next "So pretty and needy," again. They had finally made it into George’s room, "and dependent on me, your knight in shining armor, to protect you."<br/>
Clay could see it, the flames that started to ignite in George's eyes as he stared, defiantly and angrily, back up at the blonde boy. His hand ghosted over the doorknob as he silently challenged Clay to keep going. The blonde boy couldn't help but smirk, "Now, I don't know about you," letting his tongue flick over his bottom lip before he continued, "but that sounds a lot like a princess to me." e muttered lowly.</p><p>Finally, George snapped and Clay couldn't have thanked the timing enough. He was starting to get scared that maybe George has taken it as if Clay was insinuating something deeper rather than doing what he always did; getting under George's skin for a reaction. He scoffed in disgust and twisted the doorknob hard, roughly pushing the door as he ripped his gaze off the tall blonde. Swiftly, George ripped his shoulders from Clay's grasp, pushing him back hard as he slid into his doorway. Oh, did George wish that looks could kill. He glared down at the blonde boy who was doubled over amid a wheezing fit of laughter. He was choking out inaudible words in between his laughter, “What is wrong with you?” George said, shaking his head in disappointment. Clay tried to catch his breath, George continued, monotone “I'm serious. You need psychological help.”</p><p>“If it weren't for my parents, I swear.” George trailed off, watching Clay wipe the stray tear that was starting to form in his eye from laughing so hard. Regaining his composure, getting ready to respond, the blonde started to make his move to join George in the room. With no hesitation, George slammed the door in the boy's face muttering angrily. Clay stood staring at the door for a few seconds, his small amused smile still lingering on his face. He let himself take a small breath, trying to focus on what George was mumbling about him behind the closed door. A few more seconds went by before Clay reached his hand out to the doorknob, momentarily letting his focus shift to the callus and how it felt against George's face. Choosing it was better to just let it go, Clay shook the memory from his mind and pushed his way in the door, ready to continue his relentless teasing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm really not used to proofreading my own stuff and I feel so conflicted with how this turned out but, here it is.</p><p>I have a twitter for updates: <a href="https://twitter.com/Daismika">Here.</a></p><p>And I also have another DNF fic, its a roommate/ enimies to lovers AU: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708719/chapters/67815191">Here.</a></p><p>ALSO also, I've cross-posted these fics on <a href="https://www.wattpad.com/user/Daismika">Wattpad</a> if anyone is more comfortable on Wattpad/ wants to support the fic there</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The clanking of metal against metal rang through the large field — mixing with the low grunts and soft chatter of the crowd of knights. Pairs of men stood sparring with each other, spread out for about a mile, flinging blades and waving shields moved in organized chaos. </p><p>In one of the many pairs, Clay slid across the exposed mud that, from so many months of degradation ended up having the grass stripped from, causing him to almost lose his balance. He murmured a string of cuss words through gritted teeth as he looked at his opponent, studying his every move. He was well aware of the fact that no one took this training seriously. No one saw it as a competition, after all, it was simply mandatory training — there was no real reward to encourage over succeeding in the act. However, Clay had been one of the few who did not see it that way. </p><p>It didn't matter whether he was training, actually fighting, or play fighting with his friends in his spare time, Clay liked to win. It was a simple as that, there was no other real reason why Clay put so much effort into every thrust of his sword or swing of his fists, he was never one to accept failure. There would be times where he would be paired with someone like Karl, who was factually known by the entirety of the knight's to lack swordsmanship, that Clay would ease up. Karl was his friend, and he didn't particularly like winning by playing solely on his opponent's weakness. That being said, however, easing up on his partner in no way meant letting them win. </p><p>The field was Clay's happy place. It was all strategic, every move could be calculated. Behind his shield, Clay never had to think about the weird tightness in his stomach that would often plague his body within the castle walls. He never had to worry about the disorienting fog filling his brain just as it so often did when he was in the presence of George. On the field, Clay became a robot and he liked it that way. The less he had to think the better. </p><p>But there would also be days like this, where Clay would be paired up with his best friend Nick. It was undeniable that Nick knew Clay more than Clay knew himself — he read him like a book. It was inevitable that Nick had picked up on the fact that Clay's movements weren't as precise as they usually were, even though Clay himself failed to notice this -- Nick let his arm fall lazily to his side. Wordlessly his brown eyes stared holes into Clays confused green ones, expecting some kind of instant confession explaining everything that was bothering him from a to z. While he may have been good at pinpointing the fact that there was something wrong with the older boy, he was terrible at talking it out. </p><p>Making it worse was that Clay was just as bad about talking about his issues as he was identifying them. Karl often joked that he was emotionally challenged which Nick found hilarious -- Clay did not. </p><p>Holding his stance, Clay rolled his eyes. "Why did you stop?" he barked, slightly out of breath. Dopily Nick stared back at him causing Clay to lunge slightly, Nick jerked back slightly, letting a dry chuckle. "Sapnap," Clay mumbled, begging to feel increasingly annoyed -- not annoyed enough yet, however, to call the younger boy by his real name. In fact, Clay could probably count on one hand the amount of time he had uttered the name Nick over Sapnap within the past few months -- and honestly, he could probably say the same for the entire duration of their friendship. Vise versa with Sapnap, letting a condescending "Dream?" rather than 'Clay' slip past his lips with mock innocence. Clay let out a heavy sigh out of frustration, letting his arms drop as-well, somewhat mirroring Sapnap's relaxed stature. "Why are you just standing there like an idiot?" Clay murmured. </p><p>Sapnap stared back at Clay with mild annoyance, he couldn't help but wonder how someone so smart couldn't identify their own emotion. Matter of factly, Sapnap retorted "Dude, something is obviously on your mind." The older boy scoffed, "Yeah, I'm thinking about how irritating you are and how bad you at combat." A loud gasp of disbelief erupted into the open air, "You're so stupid. I'm talking about the fact that there's clearly something bothering you." </p><p>"No," Clay muttered flatly, "there's not." He watched as Sapnap threw his head back, running the both of his palms down his face, clearly getting frustrated. "Dream, you're fighting like shit right now.", Sapnap knew Clay would be mad at him for saying that but the simple fact of the matter was that Clay lacking at the moment — which only ever happened when something was bothering him. The blonde's lips parted, fully prepared to try to make a defense for himself but Sapnap quickly cut him off, "Don't even say you're not. When was the last time I was able to catch you off guard and make you lose your balance?"</p><p>His green eyes flashed with anger — knowing fully well that what Sapnap said was completely true. At first, he thought about simply denying the younger boy's words, wanting nothing more than to keep the reputation of the battleground being his happy place — the place he went specifically to get away from his problems. But he knew all too well that Sapnap is stubborn, and if he didn't tell him willingly now then Sapnap would get Karl and it would be a never-ending cycle of attempted amateur therapy sessions. Weighing his options, he turned his back walking away slowly — wordlessly beckoning Sapnap to follow his lead until they were just out of earshot of all the others. </p><p>The pair settled by the outer castle walls, letting themselves fall to their buts as they sat on the wet grass. Sapnap leaned back slightly on his palms, looking lazily over at Clay who was staring intently at nothing in particular, "So-?" Clay groaned, "I really don't know.", and that was actually the truth. As soon as Sapnap called him out, he could feel the weight in his chest but he couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly that sparked it. "Is it about George?" Sapnap asked, almost knowingly. Clays neck snapped to grimace over at Sapnap, 'George'? What could George possibly have to do with Clay's performance on the field? Not being able to find the words, Clay shook his head simply and tore his eyes away — so annoyed that he would rather go back to staring into space than look at the delusional brow eyed boy that sat next to him.</p><p>"Dream, don't act like I'm stupid here." Sapnap said, Clay could practically hear an eye roll in his voice, "It's always George."</p><p>The blonde felt his heart skip a beat, "What does that even mean?", he spat pointedly. "It means what I just said.  It's always George." Sapnap shot back, his tone almost implying that what Clay said was stupid. Still not understanding, Clay dropped it — deciding that he'd probably be better off trying to think of a reason within the past couple of days that George may have provoked this alleged ailment. Immediate regret set in, the memory of George's skin against his burned like a hot stove as it resurfaced in Clay's brain. But even with the memory, its likeness to his current emotions still acted as a mystery. Clay knew the two were linked, the tightness in his chest turned to a small stabbing sensation as the memory flashed in his mind.</p><p>He sighed, "I think you're right." This was music to Sapnap's ears, Clay immediately regretted admitting that out loud knowing he had fed Sapnap's ego by tenfold. He just ignored it before continuing, "I don't know what it is though."</p><p>"Lately, the vibe in the when I'm on the job has been off.", he tried to explain. Sapnap pulled chunks of grass from the ground, carelessly throwing the blades of grass into the wind, "Well, did something happen?", he questioned lowly. The stabbing returned, "Uh, yeah.", flatly. Clay slowly pulled his knees into his chest, throwing his lanky arms across his knees, letting his hands lazily enter twine just in front of his kneecaps. "You know how we are. We hate each other like only tolerate each other because it's my job." Sapnap let out a small 'mhm' to let Clay know he was listening, "And you know how I like to mess with him or whatever,", followed by another 'mhm'.  </p><p>Clay sighed once again, letting his head fall — his eyes focused down on his empty lap. "I was joking around with him, while we were walking back to his room. I can't remember why but at one point, outside his door, I caressed his face—", cut off by a loud gasp from Sapnap. "Shut up," Clay spat, "But, I caressed his face, and my body just kind of freaked out." </p><p>"Dream," Sapnap trailed off, clearly just as confused as Clay was. "I don't know why or what. I've touched him a million times but — I don't know — maybe the way he looked at me? It just sparked something in me." Clay was rambling now. "It's so stupid. Like, I feel like I've had moments like this before and I always assumed it was just annoyance but everything about this just feels different." Sapnap couldn't help but sit in thoughtful silence, he couldn't help but agree that something like that eating away at the older boy was a rarity — possibly even a myth. From the time that they were able to hold a sword, Clay trained his brain to think only in logistics and this only became more so true when he started working for the royal family as Prince George's personal knight. His personal opinions on the Prince never affecting the fact that Clay was more than prepared to lay down his life in the name of keeping the boy safe — it was his job and he took that very seriously. However, Clay did allow himself the small pleasure of picking on the boy for fun at times that George was under no threat but that was completely separate from the blonde allowing his emotions to affect his brain. Messing with the prince was privileged past time, while he thought living through emotions was simply put a waste of time. </p><p>"Damn man, that's weird. I don't know what to say.", Sapnap mumbled, a pang of guilt behind his words. He hated seeing Clay down, but he also knew that the best he could do at this moment in time was listen to the blonde. Clay shook his head, 'of course you don't.', he thought remorsefully to himself. Not daring to say anything of that sort out loud, knowing it would only make Sapnap feel worse that Clay knew he already did. The pair sat quietly in uncomfortable silence before muffled thumping footsteps could be heard getting louder and louder by the second. </p><p> For the first time in a while, Clay tore his eyes from his lap and looked out into the field to see none other than Karl Jacobs trotting towards them. He couldn't help but let out a small wheeze as he watched the lanky boy struggle to keep a steady running pace as the weight of his ill-fitting —probably stolen— armor weighed him down with each step. The high-quality sword tucked away in his sheath basically confirming the theory of his items being stolen, typical Karl. As soon as he was within earshot, he started shouting about something, Clay could barely make out any of what he was saying— not even fully sure if Karl was even speaking English. Even as Karl finally got to the spot that the pair were previously sitting at alone, he could barely understand any of what Karl was saying. Sapnap on the others and, translated every word effortlessly. Clay swore that Sapnap and Karl spoke a language of their own sometimes. </p><p>Using Karl as a distraction, Clay swiftly stood up — dusting the dirt off of his ass before quickly stretching.  Nodding down at Sapnap and smacking Karl lightly on his back, Clay spoke "Well, duty calls." The other two groaned in protest, short attempts to try and convince him to hang out with them a little longer to which Clay declined. Giving up, they mumbled dry goodbyes before slipping away into their usual nonsensical banter. Walking through the archway between the wall that separated the castle from the practice field, Clay let his eyes scan the stretch of garden that occupied the stretch of land. It was almost a complete sea of red, thousands of poppies swaying in the wind. Sat among them at one of the iron garden benches parallel to the large marble fountain was George. </p><p>Something that a very select number of people knew was the fact that George had a genuine love for flowers. Although he couldn't see the color of most flowers due to his colorblindness, he had a strong infatuation with the varying shapes and scents of the different flowers. This had been a trend for the boy, due to his disability he constantly found himself attracted to things that have strong quality's outside of its color. George still had yet to notice Clay's presence, so Clay stalked around the weathered cobble path — subtlety watching the brunette. </p><p>Whenever Clay had morning practices, George would take his time alone to sit in the garden by himself. The battleground to Clay was the garden for George and while he was there, he preferred to be alone. Or rather he didn't want Clay to be there, believing his presence tainted the atmosphere — hence why he would wait until he knew Clay would be gone and for how long. That being said, Clay wasn't even too shocked as he started to round the corner to get the full view of the entirety of the garden bench, revealing a smaller boy sat next to George. The flashy headpiece that hid away most of the boys long black hair was a dead give away of who the figure was— that being Alex. Georges, probably one and only, friend. </p><p>Alex was not royalty nor was he a servant, he was simply a wealthy, well-known, family that was friends with the royal family. George would claim that he and Alex could barely be called friends, insisting that Alex was clingy and he only hung out with him to make sure he doesn't lose his mind from being around Clay 24/7. But Clay called bullshit, minus the clingy part — that was true— but he knew it didn't actually bother George.  The three had practically grown up together as Clay came up, training for the day that he would serve by George's side, and being that Alex and George were together often, he had seen a lot of the boy. Well enough to see that Alex wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to their friendship, a little more obsessive over the brunette than he was Clay, Sapnap, and Karl. </p><p>Getting closer, Clay could see an embarrassed smile stretch across George's face, Alex next to him doubled over in laughter. Exasperated, Clay gapped slightly. George smiling was a rare sight, especially a smile so genuine but he was barely able to make out what Alex had said that made him smile like that. What could he have possibly said? The slight irritation that flashed in Clay's chest cranked up the speed of his walking as he b-lined over to the pair. He hadn't even made it to them fully before calling over, "What's so funny over there, princess?", picking his words carefully, wanting to wipe the smile that Alex caused from his lips. As expected, George's face flushed in embarrassment as he threw his head in Clay's direction to shoot the nastiest glare he could muster, Alex next to now wheezing from laughter at the nickname. </p><p>George rolled his eyes hard, "It's not funny, Big Q.", he mumbled sternly. Alex simply ignored this, wheezing the word 'princess' with his weak breath. Briefly breaking his glare, he turned his attention over to Alex, trying to shove the younger boy off the bench, and by the time he turned back, Clay was standing in front of him. Standings, Clay already towered over George but due to the boy sitting on the bench, it was almost hard for them to make eye contact. Looking through his lashes, George continued to glare at him. The blonde tried to ignore the tugging in his heart as he stared back down at the boy, he just looked so much like a kicked puppy — it made Clay's heart swell slightly. </p><p>"You're both so annoying.", he muttered under him. Clay tutted in mock disappointment, "That's no way to talk to your friends, Georgie."</p><p>"Yeah, Georgie" Alex quipped, mocking the nickname to further irritate the brunette. George scoffed, "Friend," he emphasized, "who's on thin ice right now. And as for you Clay, we are not friends." Alex let out a dramatic yell, "George, you're being so mean. You're gonna make Dream cry!"</p><p>"Quackity, you're supposed to be on my side. You know Clay and I are not and never have been friends.", with a huff. Clay let out a dry chuckles— unfazed. It wasn't really a lie, George would never describe their relationship as friendship and vice versa for Clay, this was nothing new. </p><p>Alex shook his head in disappointment, "You two were close when we were younger. George, you're just being mean."</p><p>"Barely, I put up with him out of common courtesy. We're not young anymore.", George spat. "We're not close anymore."</p><p>Alex laughed at this but Clay couldn't muster a response, let alone a laugh. 'We're not young anymore' was plastered in his head. The words burned like acid, 'We're not close anymore'.  Clay stared down at the older boy, who was now looking over at Alex, his mouth was moving but Clay couldn't make out the words, it was just static.  George looked almost exactly the same as they did all those years ago, his soft features and chocolate pools that were his eyes completely unchanged. Barely anything had changed about his physical appearance, so why did their relationship change. Why weren't they close anymore? When did it all go to shit? Why couldn't Clay pinpoint the moment they fell off? </p><p>All at once, standing in frustration, it hit him — he no longer simply thought Sapnap was right. He knew Sapnap was right, something had been bothering him for a while and it was George. </p><p>It was always George.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It’s 4am and I really couldn’t be bothered to fully proofread this so I hope it’s ok. </p><p>Also quickly I wanted to mention that I was kind of thinking about deleting this cause there are SO many royalty AUs on Ao3 right now. But I did some planning and I think I have kind of an interesting idea for the ending somewhat, so we’ll see! I want to continue it but I feel so unoriginal</p><p>I have a twitter for updates: <a href="https://twitter.com/Daismika">Here.</a></p><p>And I also have another DNF fic, its a roommate/ enimies to lovers AU: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708719/chapters/67815191">Here.</a></p><p>ALSO also, I've cross-posted these fics on <a href="https://www.wattpad.com/user/Daismika">Wattpad</a> if anyone is more comfortable on Wattpad/ wants to support the fic there</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For days after the beginning of what felt like the end, the air within the castle walls was tense. There was small chatter here and there betwixt Clay and George but primarily reserved for moments that it was absolutely necessary. George didn’t know this but Clay was exhausted; mentally drained. Any time he would look over at the prince, the words he said would replay repeatedly in his mind; a bleak reminder that even after years standing at his side — Clay meant nothing to him. It didn't matter that Clay was the only person within the entirety of the country, the country that serves under his family power, to actually see George; authentic and unfiltered. It didn't matter that Clay would die for George, granted the willingness to make that sacrifice was practically considered a requirement given the job description, but to know just how unfazed George would be tore away at Clay until he was nothing.</p><p>The emotions were beyond overwhelming, he wanted to yell and breakdown — going on a rampage in George’s room, breaking all the inanimate objects he knew George cared about more than he did Clay. At the same time, he wanted to curl into himself and, for the first time in years, cry. Sobbing until he couldn’t anymore and the numbness set in. </p><p>There were brief moments that Clay tried to cling to happier thoughts, feebly typing to convince himself that simply being in George’s presence was enough. He desperately wanted to believe that it was enough — but of course the undeniable always surfaced to bring him back to earth. </p><p>Leaving no other option, Clay considered simply ignoring George — focusing solely on his job alone to protect the prince. Spending hours upon hours of their days together adamantly avoiding eye contact and keeping a considerable distance — only speaking when spoken to. Walking down the dark, empty halls right after George had finally drifted off to sleep, Clay provided himself an ultimatum to his predicament, deciding that ignoring George would only spiral him deeper into this slump he was in. </p><p>If George wanted to hate Clay, even after practically growing up together — days now spent knowing that at any given moment Clay could possibly have to risk his own life in favor of Georges, then Clay would give him a reason to hate him. The guessing game was becoming quite tiresome, the origin of George’s distaste would no longer matter — from here on he would know exactly why George didn’t like him. Sure, Clay already had the ongoing habit of teasing the prince, all of which he genuinely considered light-hearted banter. But from now on, he wanted to be relentless. It was so hard to push the guilt down, but Clay couldn’t help but want George to feel his pain. He wanted to knock George down a few pegs, he wanted George to realize,  just a second, that his title of prince did not make him immune to frustration and pain. </p><p>He wanted George to feel human — as if he were no different than Clay or Sapnap. </p><p>It was stupid and petty. Clay knew it; he knew it ever before he told Sapnap — who didn’t even hesitate to dog the blonde out about just how idiotic his plan was. Sapnap knew George, though mostly in passing -- Sapnap still considered them to be friends. Clay knew George probably didn’t even consider Sapnap an acquaintance — he would never tell him that though, regardless of the fact that he thought it was self-evident. The look of distaste pure annoyance that pasted its way on George’s face any time Sapnap would drop by to visit Clay on his breaks spoke volumes. Their meetings often ended quickly as George and Sapnap would wind up getting into some meaningless, petty argument and George would insist that Clay get rid of the younger boy. </p><p>But regardless, Sapnap knew better than anyone that once Clay set his mind on something, especially a strategic game plan, he was not one to let it go. Laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, Clay remembered the only advice Sapnap had given him on the matter. </p><p>“Just try not to make him cry and lose your job. “</p><p>The prior wasn’t necessarily on his itinerary but the more Clay thought about it, the more intriguing the premise sounded. Shit happens. </p><p>-</p><p>It felt so foreign, for the first time in a long while Clay woke up feeling something other than dread. An excited buzz shot shivers through his body, the goosebumps that had arisen from the sensation sliding against his cool sheets. His messy blonde hair did him the favor of falling over his eyes, protecting them slightly from the blinding light that radiated from his window and he laid there — collecting his thoughts in preparation to start today’s plan. </p><p>Clay made mental notes of everything that he could think of that he tended to do that would set George off. Calling him princess, standing too close to him, touching him, if Clay were to lay or sit on his bed if Clay were to ramble too long or start to ask too many questions, bringing Sapnap around, the way Clay took care of him when he drank a little too much dinner. Basically, anything remotely intimate had a weird way of setting the prince off. Clay always assumed it was because, as prince, George much preferred being seen from a distance, heard from a distance. A whole lifetime spent with a majority of human interactions feeling like, even with hundreds and thousands of real people before him, he was just a figure on a tv screen. Seen and heard, all with no response —- radio silence. </p><p>Never provided with the opportunity to build relations, especially on his own accord. And with the way George reacted to Clay giving him what he thought was missing, gentle touches and soft words had convinced him that maybe he preferred his cold lifestyle. Really, Clay couldn’t even see a way to blame him for it. The life of a royal was lonely. Clay watched from a young age as George was trained into treating all his relations with anyone outside of his immediate family to be formal and polite. </p><p>It was almost ironic, Clay coined the nickname ‘princess’ not even considering the fact that George was the definition of delicate — constantly conscious with every move he made as if he was in a perpetual state of walking on eggshells. Maybe that’s why it hit Clay so hard when George let it all out. Clay practically prided himself on believing that he was one of the only people outside of the royals who knew the real George. Every time he would stand behind George in the throne room, in front of the sea of citizens sitting in front of him, he would study the brunette -- fascinated by every move he made. And any time George had some kind of meeting, Clay would stand just outside of the doorway eavesdropping, picking up the plastic formal tone he was trained to put on for these interactions — comparing just how different he spoke to Clay when it was just the two of them. </p><p>His tone was almost always direct and blunt while talking to Clay. The nature of the exchanges appeared to be freeing for George, allowing himself to move naturally — unafraid of making mistakes or slipping up on his words. Even when George insulted Clay or hit him with all the strength his thin arms could muster, Clay felt honored. Blinded by his desperate adherence to the idea that George did it all out of comfort as if Clay were someone that he could confide in but just had an odd way of showing it. Now that the clarity had set in, Clay just felt stupid.</p><p>He got sick just thinking about it.</p><p>Deciding that starting the day would be a perfect distraction to hide the sudden pain that blanked his original excitement, Clay ripped the duvet off his body. Chills shot down his spine as his exposed skin lost the warmth from under the blanket as his feet met the cold wood flooring. Typically, Clay would have woken up hours earlier than he had today. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn to start his day by exercising or taking a run in the outfield, the sunrise melting on the horizon beyond him. Unfortunately for Clay, his distress made sleeping quite the challenge for him last night, tossing and turning until the wee hours of the night making it so he had to sleep in or his exhaustion would make the day even more miserable than he already knew it was going to be. </p><p>Soft thuds filled the quiet air as the soles of Clay’s feet met the wood as he sluggishly made his way over to the bathroom. Bright light from the window flooded the entirety of the bathroom, eliminating the need to turn on a light. Green eyes stared back at him in the mirror as he raised his hand to the blonde mop that was his hair. He rolled his eyes remembering the empty promises he had made time and time again to go and get a haircut, the neglected goal was starting to get out of hand — his hair now cascading down in soft waves, just inches away from grazing his shoulders. Sapnap teased him, jokingly asking if Clay needed him to braid it for him so that it wouldn’t hinder his vision during training — not that it mattered, the jokes weren’t enough to make the haircut a priority. </p><p>Fingering the few tangles, he pushed the unruly strands down into a somewhat presentable manner — not worried about it being perfect, the bare minimum was enough. From there his hand fell to the sink faucet, gauging the warmness of the water before cupping his hands to collect it and throw it onto his face. Unlike haircare, skincare was something that Clay had taken semiseriously. He hated to admit it given the current circumstances but George crucified him when he found out that Clay woke up thinking warm water was enough, insisting that he had to actually wash his face. Since then it had become a habit, and a good one at that so Clay didn’t really mind. </p><p>Rinsing the face wash off his skin, he quickly brushed his teeth and walked back into his bedroom. Like clockwork, he walked to his wardrobe pulling out the green and black uniform he wore any time he was guarding George on the clock. Sure, it wasn’t particularly comfortable nor did it really fit a knight’s typical attire but the forest green mess dress jacket with its gold accents looked so clean to Clay. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he would be feeling himself every time he walked out through the castle with his neet black slacks and his perfectly polished black calf-high boots. It made him feel like an off-brand James Bond and he really vibed with the comparison.</p><p>Speed dressing had been something that had became a habit for Clay due to his time he spent prior to taking on the personal guard position, working alongside the general ranks. Living in the militia housing, boot camps would roll around multiple times within the months and it was expected that everyone rises early and be able to get dressed within a certain amount of time. Even though it had been years since Clay personally had to worry about the constraints of time, his mind still had a lingering fear that if he took too long he would be forced to do a cruel amount of pushups as punishment. </p><p>Now fully dressed, Clay gently pushed the wardrobe doors closed and turned to walk back to the side of his unmade bed. He shuffled the pillows slightly and lazily pulled the cover back over the mattress -- not particularly caring about how neat it looked. After he felt somewhat satisfied with his half-assed attempt at making his bed, his hand moved to ghost over his bedside table, reaching down to snatch up his wristwatch before quickly securing it over his wrist.  </p><p>8:34 the face of the watch read. </p><p>Clay slipped his black sock-clad foot into his shoes, one at a time, pulling the laces tightly. Mindlessly knotting them, he couldn't help but let his mind drift in curiosity as he wondered what George was doing right now. Clay couldn't help but think about the fact that as he prepared to make his way over to the older boy, George could just be tucked away into his sheets, still in a peaceful sleep. And Clay would come and open the door, being met with only the view of the small boy curled up on his huge bed, his relaxed features soft and pure.</p><p>Pushing open his own door and shutting it behind him as he started his walk over, Clay couldn’t help but feel a small worry of guilt rising in his stomach. If George was sleeping, Clay already knew his sleeping face would coerce him out of starting his plan — not being able to purposely be mean to the boy without imagining how cute he looked pulled away in sleep.</p><p>Sure, with Clay, George had a smart mouth and a nasty attitude but it didn't take away from the fact that he was undeniably attractive. Every single one of his features looked almost sculpted, in all the time Clay spent being forced to look at the brunette, he was never able to pinpoint a single thing about his appearance that wasn't perfect. His looks were just one of the many reasons Clay coined the nickname princess. </p><p>Closer and closer with every step, Clay started tossing up bets on what scene would be playing out behind the door. It was considerably less scary than a game of Russian roulette, but he still felt nervous all the same.  It wasn't long before Clay’s green eyes were trained on the beautifully stained wood that separates him and his target — cursing himself for not having x-ray vision, not that anyone in the world did but he was still angry. </p><p>Deep breath in; hand ghosting over the doorknob. And out; pushing it down and pushing the door open. </p><p>His eyes immediately locked onto George. A soft gasp caught its way in Clay's throat, feeling almost silly for assuming that George's sleeping expression would have been his only Achilles heel. </p><p>George was in his bed, but he wasn't asleep. His back buried in the mountain of plush pillows behind him, propping him up enough to be sitting upright. Under the blue silk duvet that stretched across his massive bed, he had his left bent ever so slightly — the back of his small hands pressed on the of his upper thigh, a book tightly in his grasp. </p><p>Due to George’s colorblindness, he preferred to wear pajama sets of various different patterns, not wanting to have to deal with stressing about what he wore to sleep not matching  — knowing full well that someone might see him in them the next day. George saw it as a necessity from preventing embarrassment but Clay simply saw it as cute. But that wasn't what struck Clay. </p><p>Rather, it was the rays of sunlight that cascaded from the window, playing on George’s milky skin — some of the light sparing embers in George’s eyes, causing his borderline black eyes to mimic a deep almond-esque color. The rose of his lips matching the natural blush that was always airbrushed onto his pale skin. He looked almost angelic, and it made Clay feel weak. </p><p>Clay reminded himself quickly, before all of his thoughts were consumed with his temporary infatuation, that he needed to focus on the bigger picture — demanding that he not let this derail the agreement he had made with himself. </p><p>But for a second, if that, Clay felt a small spark of an emotion he thought he had lost after hearing the hard truth regarding the relationship the two had. Looking at George the way he was now was ethereal, to the point that Clay almost felt like he was unworthy to be looking at him. But then he remembered, he was right. </p><p>He was the only person to see George like this — his raw form, soft and real. And it didn't matter whether they were friends or hated each other's guts, what they shared behind closed doors was real. This George, the George that yelled obscenities and hurled insults, that napped the day away and started fights that he couldn't finish was Clays and Clays only. Of course, he was still going to stick to his plan, knowing that just because this George only existed in his presence did not change the way George felt about him — not even noticing the difference between their interactions versus how he acted in public. But, Clay still allowed himself to see this as a small victory — proof that maybe he wasn't completely out of line for thinking their relationship to be more than what it was.  </p><p>Words drenched in soft annoyance pulled Clay out of his trance. Not even bothering to actually listen to what was being said, Clay decided that he would tuck that memory to the back of his mind — it was time to get the ball rolling.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I keep getting so exhausted proofreading and end up just giving up so I hope this was ok. </p><p>I have a twitter for updates: <a href="https://twitter.com/Daismika">Here.</a></p><p>And I also have another DNF fic, its a roommate/ enimies to lovers AU: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708719/chapters/67815191">Here.</a></p><p>ALSO also, I've cross-posted these fics on <a href="https://www.wattpad.com/user/Daismika">Wattpad</a> if anyone is more comfortable on Wattpad/ wants to support the fic there</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Before reading, I just wanted to clarify a few aspects of this story regarding the historical/realistic accuracy of the whole royal thing I've got going here. </p><p>Basically, due to both my own ignorance and this being an SMP based fic, the world being written here is completely fictional. It has no time-specific era that it follows or any formalities or rules -- I don't know if that makes sense, but I hope it gave an idea of what I'm going for,</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At first, nothing felt different. </p><p>Day in and day out, George would carry on with the same routine he acted out since he was old enough to form coherent sentences. His life felt like a movie; at night before he’d go to sleep, he pressed rewind, starting the film from the beginning so in the morning he could press play and do it all over again. It was exhaustingly repetitive, but the cycle would not and could not be broken. All with the exception of times that there would be some kind of event, then the film would turn into a shitty spinoff that was practically just as boring as the original. </p><p>It was ironic because George did, in fact, often feel like he was just a character reading off a script; incapable of exhibiting free will. Every move he made was pushed towards developing the ‘plot’ of his country’s future, George was a puppet. Had George known Clay noticed this too, he would have distanced himself ages ago, he knew Clay was one of the very few people that George never felt obligated to act around. </p><p>So vividly could he remember the exact moment he realized this, still being able to hear his mother’s words as she sat across from him at the long dinner table; asking him why he acted so strangely around Clay. He could remember the confusion that flashed on his face as he blinked back at her, ‘strange’? How she smiled softly in amusement, trying to list off some of the many things she had picked up on her son’s odd behavior. None of it was to scold the boy, seeing as he was only that way with Clay — she had no real issue with it; not because she saw the boy as some lesser servant but rather she saw him as family. Never would she go as far as to refer to the blonde as a second son, afraid of the guilt that would eat her alive if anything ever happened to the boy under her employment; but she did love him with her whole heart. Both George’s parents were more than relieved to have the benefit of having someone they were certain they could trust to protect their son. </p><p>George just gapped, like a fish out of water. His mom simply laughed, musing that it was probably because that was the only person George really hung around that was around his age; George, however, didn’t really consider that the case. While George did act similarly around Alex and Sapnap, his interactions with Clay felt different. </p><p>Realizing this sparked emotions in George that he didn’t even know he had. More than anything, it scared him shitless. </p><p>Whatever was hidden behind the ‘different’ emotion George felt with Clay was starting to grow roots into George’s heart. He could feel them gripping tighter every time the tall blonde stood too close to him or spoke too softly and too close to his ear. With lay, George felt like he was in a dreamland,  living out a life that he had only ever been able to observe from a distance. George hated feeling like this; he hated allowing himself to be consumed in variability knowing fully well that all of this was temporary. </p><p>One day his dad would shake him awake from his dream world, from the illusion of a normal life he had with Clay, and remind him that he was simply a cog in his machine. He had a job to do and he had no choice but to do it and do it right, trained to follow the manual. It would start with a loveless marriage and end with George sitting around in the same castle walls he had been staring at for the entirety of his life, preparing his son for the throne just as his father did to him. </p><p>It made George feel sick. He could see Clay and he could touch Clay but the exact moment George would go to get a grasp on him, desperate to hold on to a piece of his dream world, he would just melt and slip through his fingers. There were often times George would even find himself envious of the blonde. Everything about him, setting aside his strategic side that had a habit of making an appearance, the blonde was free. At any given moment he could simply quit his position beside George, he could be a painter or a chef — anything really, and he wouldn’t even have to think twice. Most importantly, he could choose who he wanted to love. </p><p>He would never be forced to live the rest of his days miserable because he was blessed with the privilege of options. George, however, did not have that same luxury. Only in bits and pieces would he get even a sliver of a taste, those moments being the ones he spent in Clay's presence. </p><p>As light as the feeling made George feel, he often found himself staring up at his ceiling in the middle of the night — drowning in the open air from guilt. Nothing that he would ever do would ever be able to equate what Clay did for him. Clay was the only thing that reminded George that he was human, even the relentless teasing sparked his iron heart to life; sputtering, gears turning, slowly producing heat that would spread all through his body </p><p>Although George would never admit this out loud, but when the teasing first started — he had only pretended to be annoyed. The thought made George inwardly shudder, thinking about how weird that sounded; almost implying that he had some sort of degradation kink — which was not the case. </p><p>Or at least George didn't think it was. It’s not.</p><p>But all at once, he realized it. The day they found out his brother was missing. The day that George broke. </p><p>Within the kingdom, this was something that was rarely talked about and if it was, it was only in whispers, but everyone had known the story. The truth of the matter was that George was never meant to be king. </p><p>In the line of succession, there was someone that had come before him — that being his older brother. Unlike George, his brother fed off of the thought of leadership; there was nothing he wanted more than to be king. At the time, George was more than happy to sit in the shadows, watching his brother slowly work towards filling their father’s shoes. And then came the revolution; a small considerably revolution, but a revolution nonetheless. </p><p>A small part that their father had trusted George's brother within preparation was allowing him to personally work on relations with one of the Lords within their nation; Wilbur, Lord of L’manburg, to be specific. And for a good while, things seemed to be perfect. But it wasn’t long until sparks ignited.</p><p>The fire started slowly, George's brother doing his best to remain neutral and fair. Multiple times would he find himself having to turn a blind eye to some of the questionable actions Wilbur and his crew would take, wanting to give them the benefit of the doubt. It was clear that he had been a little too lenient as he watched L’manburg go from an ambitious, growing nation to a power-hungry, reckless monster. Wilbur’s right-hand man had shown his colors, rendering him and the manor as a whole as a liability to the crown. </p><p>George could remember the distress heavy on his brother's tongue as he desperately grasping at straws for a solution. He was scared, even before he had acted he could feel the heat of the growing fire. With what felt like the blink of an eye, everything had become engorged in flames — leaving no lingering remains of the piece that had once existed between them. It had gotten to the point where there was nothing else that could be done but to neutralize the threat; taking the title of Lord from Wilbur and dismantling the manor of L’manburg. </p><p>From there, it all burned.  Wilbur, who was once optimistic and kind, was thrown into a state of absolute madness as he watched the thing he worked so hard to build be snatched away from him. Tommy beside him, immediately turning to treason with the intent to go as far as he needed to get his idea of ‘justice’. The pair had become infatuated with the idea of destroying the entirety of the newly reclaimed land that was once L’manburg, of course, the crown doing everything in their power to keep it safe. George would never be able to grasp the motive behind the action, but at one point Wilbur and Tommy had rendered his brother as a roadblock — the thing standing between them and their victory. It only took a few weeks before George's brother had left the castle, letting his family know he would be back for dinner — words that his family would only soon after would find out to be meaningless. He was not home for dinner, nor was he home for breakfast the next morning; simply put, he was missing. </p><p>As devastating as it was, there was no mystery behind the disappearance. He was a roadblock, so he was removed. </p><p>Months moved by agonizingly slow as they all waited for the boy to return; doing everything in their power to live under the impression that he would return,  completely rejecting the possibility of death. George, in particular, had clung to the idea the hardest — knowing that, if his brother never featured, he would be doomed to take his place. Every day he would sit in front of his window, Clay stood beside him or sprawled out on the floral couch in his room, hoping that his brother would just magically appear; materializing in front of him in ragged clothing and matted hair. </p><p>He allowed himself to lose count of how many days it had been since his brother was gone. Acknowledging the time would mean acknowledging the deadline where their long wait had become too long and George was the one who would have to make up for it. George couldn't even accurately decipher what month they were in when his father finally sat him down to break the news to him — the only thing he knew was that it didn't feel long enough. </p><p>The shock at first had numbed him, the concept of time still had yet to hit him. Although he had never been the sole focus of his father, he still hated to disappoint him. He could still remember the direness in his throat as he had to force out words of compliance and understanding. He could still remember how difficult it had been to fight back the tears he could already feel welling in his eyes. And the way Clay stood behind him, his large hand resting gently on the small of George’s back as they walked back to George’s room as soon as his meeting with his dad ended. </p><p>Then the way his back slid down the cold wall as he let himself fall to the floor, Clay going down with him. Completely overstimulated with his sudden hyper-awareness of it all, George broke down. The lingering feeling of guilt that George had hidden behind his optimism rose lip his throat like bile, sick from how selfish he was being. What made him feel worse was Clay, balanced on his shins as he wrapped his long arm around George's shoulder, allowing the other to slither behind Goerges head, cradling it softly as he buried the boy's face into his chest. George could feel the wetness of his tears on the fabric of Clay's clothing and for a while, he sat there sobbing limply. </p><p>Vibrations tingled against his face as Clay softly whispered comforting words to him. George tried not to listen, the words made him feel sick. Clay kept going, even when George started to weakly push the taller boy off of him, begging between sobs for Clay to let him go. He hated being vulnerable, but he couldn't stop himself from being honest with Clay at that moment; it wasn’t that he hated being comforted by Clay, rather he felt unworthy. He felt there was no reason for someone, especially not Clay, to waste their time concerned over someone like him. The words just fell through his lips, listing every reason he could think of that Clay would have to leave him then and there. </p><p>There would never be a day in George's life that he would forget the sadness in Clay's voice as he told George that he wasn’t going anywhere, whispering a whole string of sweet nothings into his ear. Telling him that he wished there was a world where it could just be the two of them, asking him to imagine it. George could feel the snap in his heart as it broke off to beat out of his chest, realizing that he didn’t need to imagine it. Where the two were at, in the confinement of his room, George felt at home and all at once he felt himself shatter. He could feel the heat of Clay's back burning the palm of his hands as he clung desperately to the fabric of his jacket, almost mimicking the feeling of him touching a hot stove. </p><p>Whatever feeling that had pooled at the bottom of his stomach was overwhelming to the point of being painful; he could practically feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest but he couldn't manage to pull himself away. Clay's bare skin was slick from George's tears; George could feel goosebumps arising against the surface of Clay's skin in reaction to his choking breath that escaped George’s lips in between sobs. They sat like that for a good while, the only noise between the two of them being the choked sobs. </p><p>Clay could feel George slipping away weakly from his grasp, the exhaustion from his crying fit finally starting to wash over him. The taller boy started to pull back, but even in his weakened state, George tightened his grip — pulling him back against his body. A whimper almost escaped the smaller boy as he felt Clay's large hands remove themselves from his body, letting them drop to his side as he tried to pull away again. </p><p>“George,” he called out softly,  feeling George jump slightly in surprise. Assuming Clay saying his name meant he wanted Gorge to let him go, he reluctantly let his arms slip off the blonde’s torso, falling hard into his lap. Through the time that the two had embraced, he slowly began to feel his tears start to slow but Clay pulling away had caused a rush of hot tears to reform in his eyes. George's vision was blurry behind his forming tears but he watched and Clay stood in front of him; stretching quickly before leaning back down until he was level with George. </p><p>The ground surrounding them had suddenly become much more interesting to George as he felt Clays face loom over the side of his head, not wanting to make eye contact with him. </p><p>“Put your arms around my neck.” George heard, Clay's soft voice ticketing his ears. </p><p>In his emotionally submissive state, unable to move on his own accord, he snapped his head in Clay’s direction and let his arms snake loosely around his neck; not even concerned with the reasoning of the request. After that, he felt one of Clay's arms slide underneath the crease of his legs; the other slipping across his back, making sure to put enough support in holding his back before heaving the small boy into his arms bridal style. All over again George could feel himself crumble, the only lingering cognitive function George had finding the lack of surprise or uncomfortableness from the action; realizing that he was incapable of doing anything but desperately cling to Clay. </p><p>He could feel Clay walking, George snuggled tightly into the nook of the blonde's neck — not even concerned to see where exactly Clay was taking him, completely content being in his arms again. The sound of rustling filled the silence as Clay’s arm dropped from George’s back, jerking the two of them around as he pulled away at something. Next, George felt himself being lowered; his back slowly being met with a cold plushness, making him shiver from losing the heat from Clay’s body. Knowing that there was no way for him to keep his grip on Clay’s neck, he just let himself slump into his bed. </p><p>He looked up at Clay through his lashes and the boy stood over him, pulling the cover back over the boy’s body. The two made eye contact for the first time since they had entered the room, Clay’s green eyes looked yellow to George; he could feel himself shy under the blonde boys gaze, feeling completely consumed but it. Clay raised his hand and hovered it over George's face watching as George let his eyes flutter shut as his hand lowered, meeting George’s messy hair. </p><p>He could feel himself sink as Clay’s hand ran through George’s short lock, trying to smooth down the pieces that were out of place from sifting against Clay’s body. George kept his eyes closed, Clay couldn’t help but frown at the puffiness that sheeted over his face, lips, and cheeks beaming a deep red on George’s pale skin. Assuming that George had exhausted himself enough to quickly fall asleep, Clay pulled his hand from George’s hair. He stood there for a moment, studying George’s soft face, he could feel the strain in his heart knowing how much pain the boy was in and knowing that there nothing he could actually do about it. </p><p>Knowing that this was something that George would have to deal with alone, something he would want to deal with alone. He held back a sigh, not wanting George to be able to sense the disappointment Clay felt from feeling so useless in the slim chance that he was still awake. Clay knew he had to turn around, or he could stand there watching George for hours until he woke up. Turning on his heels, he took a single step in the direction of George’s bedroom door; quickly halting his movement as he felt a weak grip grab ahold of his palm. </p><p>Which no hesitation, he flipped around — facing George whose eyes were open and pleading. Seconds felt like hours as they looked wordlessly at each other, the words hot on George’s tongue without the strength to let them out. There was so much he wanted to say, but even in his mind, he could feel himself stuttering nervously.</p><p>Finally, he simplified his thoughts into one word, the only amount he was capable of saying. His voice was hoarse, ripe from crying — the words came out as more of a whisper, he was barely able to hear himself.</p><p>“Stay.” </p><p>He meant it as a question but it had come out as more of a command. From there, no other words were exchanged. Even with Georges colorblindness, he felt like he could see a flash of something in Clay’s eyes as he looked down at the boy laid down; wondering his Clay could feel his heartbeat through his fingers on his palms The callus of Clay’s rough hands slipped further down George’s hand as he moved back to the bed. Without needing to be instructed, George shifted to the middle of the bed, letting his hand slip from Clays and he made room for the man to lay next to him. </p><p>He stared at the blondes late back watching as he discarded his work jacket and took off his shoes before pulling the covers up once again, slipping under them. The two of them layed on their sides facing each other, Clay being the one to make the first move. The rough pad of his thumb ran over the soft surface of George’s face, wiping away any wetness, more so trying to wipe away any lingering sadness. From his face, his hands ran past the boy’s cheekbones to his lower jaw and down his neck, feeling the smaller boy shiver from the sensation. Gently, he pulled the boy’s neck towards him, feeling the warmth of George’s breath on his chest and the smaller boy cuddled into the larger. </p><p>It wasn’t long before George, consumed by the warmth of Clay’s body against his, allowing the sleep to finally was over him. In his dreams, he saw a mushroom house in the woods. He saw him dressed in warm clothing, a sweater, and jeans — mindlessly wandering around the outside of the mushroom house, feeding some fish that swam around the pond under the bridge leading to the house. </p><p>Staring at his own reflection in the water, he heard a voice call out to him. He didn’t even have to look to know that the voice was Clay, yet he still shot up sapping his head in the direction of the source of the voice. He felt his dream-self swoon, watching Clay staring back at him, a goofy smile proudly plastered on his face. He could feel a hazy warmness of sorts that filled his dream-self’s chest as he started walking towards Clay who was stood just in front of the mushroom house. He could see himself smiling back at Clay. </p><p>In an instant, the dream slowed. The mushroom house behind Clay burst into flames and explosions erupted all around them, seeming to destroy everywhere except the place George was standing, that land being completely untouched. </p><p>George watched in horror as Clay’s smile dropped, turning into fear then anger, anger seemingly directed at George. Then behind him, he heard another voice, one that he had not heard in months. He was hesitant to turn, scared that if he took his eyes off of Cla, he would disappear but he couldn't help it; he had to see. </p><p>The figure was pale, almost ghost-like. But George still knew immediately who it was, he had been wasting hours a day looking for him; it was Eret.</p><p> Eret, George's brother. Eret, the lost prince. </p><p>George wanted to scream, but nothing came out. He snapped to look back at Clay, screaming out to him to do something — anything — but the grass patch where Clay once stood emerged completely in flames and he was nowhere to be seen. Behind the rising ash, on the hill just above his house, he could see Tommy and Wilbur looking down at him. He couldn't hear them say anything, but he followed the movement of Tommy’s mouth as he spoke out to him. </p><p>‘You’re fault’.was what he was able to make out. </p><p>With that, George bolted up out of bed. The only thought in his mind that he had to distance himself from Clay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, I didn't really proofread this so I hope its ok,,, This is the longest chapter I've ever written in my life (and I've been in and out  of writing since like 2016)</p><p>I have a twitter for updates: <a href="https://twitter.com/Daismika">Here.</a></p><p>And I also have another DNF fic, its a roommate/ enimies to lovers AU: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708719/chapters/67815191">Here.</a></p><p>I also really quick want to thank everyone for leaving me really nice comments on this fic, I don't really respond cause I be really awkward but I do read them and cry a little inside from joy. ALSO also, I've cross-posted these fics on <a href="https://www.wattpad.com/user/daismika">Wattpad</a> if anyone is more comfortable on Wattpad/ wants to support the fic there</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The world was vast. Hundreds of thousands of millions of life forms inhabiting the diverse stretch of land and sea alike; seeming practically endless for anyone but those looking down at the planet from space. So why was it that George felt so terribly alone? Detached? </p><p>He had a mother and a father, yet in their presence, he often felt like he was talking to someone who may as well had been a stranger. He felt no warmth when his mother worried for him, holding his cold hands in her warm ones, the very same void like brown eyes that she had passed down to George pleading for him to feel — react, anything. Her soft words would slip past his eardrums and before George would have the time to register her words, they would dissipate — rendering the intent useless. </p><p>George wanted to feel bad, but he didn’t; he couldn’t. When she spoke to George, her words were directed to her son but her son was gone. And she knew it just as well as George did that, the day Eret went missing, she didn’t lose only one son -- she lost both. </p><p>It was clear as day, all the signs being almost identical to the way she had been when she was young. From the day that she was born, she had been seen as a pawn rather than a young girl. The only difference being that, unlike George, she never even had a chance at having an ‘out’; an older sibling to take on the role of successor. </p><p>To be a girl born into a royal family was something similar to being a collectors edition item, valuable and sought after — the value only increasing with age as all the hungry surrounding nations began counting the days that the young ladies would be old enough to marry off. Nothing seemed to be a choice, even after being wed, the neverending feeling of walking on eggshells; avoid angering your partner, getting divorced, and end up becoming the only thing you had been taught to fear — a disappointment. </p><p>To most of the young women from important families, the breaking point never seemed to come until it came time for them to bear children — some of them realizing that their children were the only thing that they had even the slightest control over in their life, others realizing that their lives had practically lost its value after fulfilling their lives goal. </p><p>Before having children, George’s mother was no different; she dreaded the day she would finally have to carry a child, always riddled with the fear that they would end up feeling like her and regardless if she wanted the child, that was a feeling that she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. That’s probably why it was so shocking when the first time she felt joy in her life — true, genuine joy — was after Eret was born. Sure, the feeling hadn’t been immediate, but she could feel it when it finally came. </p><p>Every day, as she watched Eret grow, she would count the days that he would lose his childlike ignorance; finally reaching the day that he would realize his whole life was planned out before he had even been a concept, she was shocked when the day never came. There was no hesitation;  the responsibility of leadership crept up on the young boy but he never once shied from it, he very clearly took after his father in every sense of the word — not even his looks were much like his mothers. </p><p>Never did she envy the boy, bitter that somehow she had created a human being that held all the attributes she had prayed every night to be able to have when she was his age, but she also never felt truly connected to the boy because of that exact reason. </p><p>She was happy that <em>he </em>was happy but the eldest had always felt more of her husband’s child than he did hers; which is why, after a few years of internal turmoil, she decided to have another child.  Her second pregnancy feeling felt foreign — daring to toe the line of being borderline ethereal. </p><p>For the entirety of her pregnancy, she felt little to no worry for the first time in her life. Any tenseness left her as soon as her motherly instincts insisted to her that the developing embryo wasn’t a female, her curse would have no chance of living on through her offspring; her eldest was next in line and happy to be the one for the job, meaning her second child would be free. </p><p>Or at least as free as a child belonging to a royal family could be. </p><p>Still to this day she could remember laying, exhausted post-labor, and being handed her child to hold for the first time. Even in his adult years, she would look at George and she would almost always see a flash of the same childlike ignorance he had as a newborn, never fully leaving him as it had so quickly with Eret. </p><p>George looked so much like her and he was everything she wished to be when she was younger. It almost felt like everything she had been keeping bottled up throughout her whole life had metastasized inside of her forming George rather than something created by the joint effort between her and her husband. </p><p>A mother should never pick favorites but between her and her thoughts, George was definitely her favorite. She even found herself being overtaken by a newfound wave of love for Eret as he unintentionally assured George a happier life; she had even grown a deeper fondness for her husband, grateful for the life he had helped her create. </p><p>Only recently did she realize how all of that had been <em>way </em>too good to be true. </p><p>George broke and the collateral damage from it broke her as well. She looked at him but it wasn’t George who would be looking back at her, now all she saw was her younger self — helpless and broken. </p><p>You would think after all those years, finally living and loving, that she had finally learned to break out of the mindset she had in her adolescent years —  surely, George had shown her how right? </p><p>All she could do was watch; hope that her words would be enough to provide at least a moment of relief. Words could even describe how much of a failure she felt as a mother when she was forced to admit to herself that there was only one person capable of helping her son, and it wasn’t her. </p><p>Clay, the only person who solidified her daydream of a normal life for George. Clay, the person who cared for her son, who talked to her son, who took interest in her son all on his own accord. Clay, who belonged to no royal family.</p><p>He was the only person on the planet that George’s mom felt saw George in the same light as she did. A boy born with everything but wanting nothing. </p><p>Unlike her, Clay was someone born with nothing and wanting nothing — nothing material, that was. Between the two of them, Clay and George’s mother, there was a secret kept — even after all these years no one other than them knew of it.</p><p>The secret was obscure, the likelihood of someone guessing was slim to none but it was a hard truth nonetheless; Clay was never asked to be George’s personal night nor was he authentically chosen from a list of suitors. Clay's father was highly ranked within their militia, even so far as to be thought of as the King’s right-hand man when it came to strategical combat talk. From the time Clay could walk, he was taught the art of the sword, practically destined to be a fighter.</p><p>When it came time in Erets training for King, they would look towards Clay to spar with him -- show him the ropes. George was younger then and much different than he was now, he almost always was sat to the side during their sessions as he watched in silent bewilderment. Clay was quick to develop a fascination with the younger brother, always seeing George as a diamond in the rough of sorts. </p><p>Everything about him was so unlike anyone Clay had met before, he bore no resemblance to his own brother — his flesh and blood. To Clay, George almost resembled the flowers he loved so much except he never wilted, he was always pristine as if he had just freshly bloomed. </p><p>Somewhere along the way, something awoke within Clay. He had spent all that time teaching Eret to protect himself while George was left defenseless. Who would protect George when he was incapable of protecting himself? Surely, Clay couldn’t allow that. Could he? </p><p>Still to this day he could remember George’s mother’s tear-stained cheeks leaving wet patches on the fabric of his tunic, the burn of her hot palm against his back as she embraced him after he proposed the idea of being George’s personal knight. At first, he didn’t understand; even without him, George had a whole army tasked with ensuring the royal family’s safety, why did one person evoke such an emotional reaction?</p><p>But then she told him. </p><p>She told him everything.</p><p>Clay was hit with a rush of hundreds of different emotions. She had practically confirmed what he saw in George wasn’t all in his head, George was truly an anomaly. Relief, empathy, determination, fear, happiness, Clay felt it all. </p><p>Even now, heartbroken and confused, he would never take his proposal back nor would he ever think of stepping down from his role. Putting others first had always been an awful habit for Clay but it never matched the extremity it did now. If he were to ever leave George, he wouldn’t be letting himself down but he would also be letting George’s mother down and that was not a burden Clay was willing to bear. </p><p>Especially not after Eret’s disappearance. The two people Clay feared for the most were ripped apart by grief and Clay did everything in his power to at least attempt to act as the glue, giving George’s mother the slightest bit of comfort knowing that her pride and joy was being cared for. George’s gratitude only being visible as it revealed itself amidst his hysterics, he would never admit to it but Clay knew that George was happy to have someone there for him through his fits. </p><p>Even though George hurt him, when Clay ever wanted to do was protect him, he was incapable of abandoning him. Even when every moment spent in George’s presence felt like holding a hand on a hot stovetop and leaving it there. </p><p>It should have made Clay feel like his life was worthless, only existing to essentially be a human shield for another person but to Clay, it had always felt like more than that — he couldn’t even begin to put it into words, he didn’t even fully understand the feeling himself. He felt like shit watching George suffer, becoming his own antagonist as he tore away at himself and pushed Clay away. </p><p>Unlike a physical threat, there was no way for Clay to neutralize the target that it was hurting George nor was he able to expose the secret kept between him and George's mother. Would George even care if he did though? </p><p>No, of course not. He made it very clear that he didn’t <em>need </em>Clay as much as Clay wanted to believe he did.</p><p>-</p><p>“What is wrong with you?” George exclaimed, his pupils blown the size of saucers as they shot up to meet Clays with a look of angered shock. </p><p>Clay didn’t even bother to look at the broken porcelain teacup shattered at their feet, the hot liquid seeping through the leg of his pants. </p><p>“Oops.”, he shrugged. </p><p>George's eyebrows knitted together, “Oops?” </p><p>“Yeah, I didn't mean to.” <em>An obvious lie. </em></p><p>“You're so full of shit, Clay. You clearly did that on purpose.”</p><p>Clay smirked a little, unbothered that George had very clearly seen through his act. He let himself inch forward, not even attempting to avoid stepping in the puddle as he towered over the shorter boy in an attempt of being intimidating. </p><p>“And what if I did?” He challenged, his voice dropping some octaves to really try and push his act. “What then?” </p><p>For a split second, George’s eyes darted off of Clays, trying to regain his composure after his body involuntarily flinched as the sudden closeness. </p><p>“Then you’ll be cleaning it up.”, the words started confident but his voice waived slightly towards the end. </p><p>A deep chuckle erupted from Clay’s throat, “Princess, this may come as a shock to you but I’m your knight — not your maid.” </p><p>George scoffed, “You’re also a grown man. You made the mess so you are responsible for cleaning it up.” </p><p>“That would be valid if <em>I </em>made the mess, but, if I recall correctly, it was <em>you </em>who dropped the cup. Not me.” </p><p>“Yeah, because you <em>made </em>me drop it. Stop acting so-“ </p><p>Clay waited for George to finish what he was starting to say. He was obviously starting to get frustrated with the back and forth. </p><p>“Acting so what, George?”, he pressed, “Go on, tell me what’s wrong with me that made you so clumsy.” </p><p>At this point, Clay really just wanted George to snap and both he and George knew it. So a few pregnant seconds went by, George trying to restrain himself from taking the bait. His skin was glowing red by now, he could feel the heat of it radiating off his skin but he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. </p><p>“You’re acting like a dick.”, finally, “You’ve been acting like a dick for days now, actually.” </p><p>Clay let out another deep chuckle that midway turned into a wheeze, “You’re really that desperate to blame me for your accident?” </p><p>A flash of emotion sparked in George’s eyes, but Clay couldn’t identify exactly what it was. </p><p>“Stop it with the mind games, it’s seriously starting to get annoying.”</p><p>Another inch closer, George backed his way closer to the wall behind him to keep the little space there still was between them. </p><p>“Mind games? Sorry, to break it to you, Princess but just because I don’t bow down to your every order like everyone else does, doesn’t mean I’m playing mind games with you.”</p><p>George’s mouth started to move but he struggled to speak, the words forming but instantly sliding back his throat. Clay kept going. </p><p>“You’re human just like me, Georgie. Maybe consider getting ahold of your superiority complex and remember that we’re the same. Really, if I wanted to, I could destroy you.”</p><p>George's face dropped, “What are you on about?”</p><p>“Look at you,” Clay said, reaching for George's thin pale wrists, his large hands engulfing the entirety of his wrist effortlessly. “You're tiny. It wouldn’t even take much, you would crumble.” </p><p>He didn’t allow himself to go any further into detail than that, he wanted Georges to feel slightly insecure, not threatened. </p><p>“You wouldn’t though,” George muttered, his voice small but genuine. He was clearly incapable of saying Clay was wrong, George knew just as well as Clay that it was true. </p><p>“I wouldn’t,” Clay confirmed dryly, letting his grip on the boy’s wrist loosen and fall back down to his side. “But I could. I’m just reminding you that the world doesn’t revolve around you, George.”</p><p>George grimaced, “I know it doesn’t.” </p><p>“Oh, come<em> on</em>, you sure act like it does.”</p><p>It was a lie. Clay knew that the last thing George wanted was for the world to revolve around him — he spent years contently watching from the sidelines as it revolved around someone else — but he knew it would press the burnet boy’s buttons. </p><p>George hesitated, Clay could see how exhausted he was from being verbally shat on by him. “Fuck you, Clay.” George spat, jerking his body away from Clay, storming his way to his bathroom for toilet paper to pick up the mess.</p><p>“You wish, Princess.” Clay called after him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>First, I wanted to say that, after skimming through older chapters to make notes in prep for this one, I've realized I should probably find a beta reader cause,,, yikes. So if anyone reading this is interested, you can comment and we can work something out. (It'll mainly be making sure I didn't misspell anything/ sentences make sense so on so forth)</p><p>Secondly, I changed my user on everything because my friends know about/read or have read some Haiykuu stuff BEFORE I started writing DNF and I'm mega embarrassed and didn't want them stumbling upon my 2 fics. (My old user is also an alias I use on ALOT of social media, so my timbers where shivered)<br/>--<br/>House keeping:</p><p>I have a twitter for updates: <a href="https://twitter.com/Daismika">Here.</a></p><p>And I also have another DNF fic, its a roommate/ enemies to lovers AU: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708719/chapters/67815191">Here.</a></p><p>ALSO also, I've cross-posted these fics on <a href="https://www.wattpad.com/user/Daismika">Wattpad</a> if anyone is more comfortable on Wattpad/ wants to support the fic there</p>
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